Vulnerable
by ALilyPea
Summary: House is most vulnerable without his Vicodin. SLASH


**Title: ** Vulnerable**  
Characters:** House/Wilson**  
Prompt: **42. Unclothed**  
Word Count:** 799**  
Rating:** R**  
Warnings/Spoilers:** Contains angst, and a plot that definitely didn't come out the way I wanted it to.**  
Summary:** House is most vulnerable without his Vicodin.

House is most vulnerable without his Vicodin, Wilson has learned over the years. It is something he has come to accept, this addiction, this monster that has taken over his best friend's life. There is nothing he can do about it; but he still tries.

Without Vicodin, he can see the pain washing over him with a pinpoint clarity, as House's jaw clenched and his face paled before his hand moved to his knee below the scar tissue and he clutched at it, nails digging past the cloth of his pants into his skin.

He has seen House naked, and the older man was less ashamed of that then to be seen without his drugs.

"What are you looking for?" House snaps at him, laying on the couch with one hand clutching his leg which seems to be frantically spasming, as though what's left of the muscles there are threatening to leave him.

His face contorts in pain and his back nearly arches off the couch as he pants for air, taking in deep breath after deep breath.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Wilson replies, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting down in the arm chair diagonal from the couch.

House laughs, the sound harsh, almost like a bark as he shook his head. "You want to make sure I'm okay then give me something for the pain damnit," he snaps and doesn't care when Wilson flinches at the tone.

"Not right now, I want to know how bad your pain levels are," Wilson tells him, uncrossing his arms and shifting around uncomfortably because damn those eyes could pierce steal and if a look could kill…well…

House drops his head back onto the pillow and closes his eyes tightly, his muscles hurting all over from the intensity of pain radiating from his leg. "Goddamnit Wilson," he curses his friend, gripping his thigh with an almost skeletal looking hand, the veins and muscles in it protruding as another wave of pain crashes over him.

"Fine," Wilson doesn't know why he bothers to try and stop House from abusing his own body, because really there is little he can do to help his lover and best friend. He stands and makes his way into the bedroom, grabbing the bottle of Vicodin out of his locked chest he brings it into the living room and gives House two.

Popping them into his mouth House pants softly once they are swallowed, closing his eyes he waits for them to take effect, knowing that due to his immunity to the drug he will need a little more if he wants the pain to vanish completely.

"Why don't you make me feel better?" He asks Wilson, crooking a finger in his direction. "Help me to the bedroom."

Wilson sighs, dragging a hand through his hair he knows that this is some sort of game, that he is being played in some way. He helps House up, and into the bedroom easing him onto the bed and carefully propping his bad leg up.

"You know you will just get angry if I try to "make you feel better" now, because you won't be able to get it up," he says bluntly, not caring at this point if he is hurting his lover's feelings because part of him is getting sick of this.

House nods, flashing a quick and bitingly sarcastic smile in Wilson's direction, "I could always take care of you though," he tells him, patting the bed next to him.

Wilson lies down to the bed next to him, shoving the extra pillows toward the headboard so he can prop himself up there, "You're being ridiculous."

Heaving a sigh House nods, "Right…Whatever." The silence between them in the next moments is as stifling as being smothered with a pillow.

Wilson closes his eyes, feeling House's lips on his about ten minutes later he returned the kiss, figuring if this was what his best friend and lover needed it was okay with him. His hand slides up into House's hair, shifting so the other man will be more comfortable.

The taste of House's lips against his are a comfort, just as much as those nimble hands working on the buttons of his oxford shirt are. He gasps, groaning softly when his clothing is removed and he is laid bare in House's bed.

His arousal, and his interest in House for the time being fades when he opens his eyes to find the other man rummaging through his pants pocket, the bottle of Vicodin held triumphantly in one hand.

House presses his lips against Wilson's, "Thanks. We'll get back to this later," he tells him before popping three more into his mouth and rolling onto his side leaving Wilson undressed and vulnerable.

This is life with a junky.


End file.
